


Tribal Lore

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That man was Pope, the last great medicine man of my people."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tribal Lore

## Tribal Lore

#### by Nemesis

Author's website: <http://www.livejournal.com/users/rogue_planet/>  
Inside the text, Native Americans are referred to as Indians, both by themselves and by others. The Onondagas, who I grew up with and went to school with, also referred to themselves as Indians. This seemed un-PC to many people at SenBetas, so many of the references were changed, but not all of them, especially when people speak.  
Thank you to all the wonderful folks over at SenBetas, who smoothed all the rough edges off this for me.   
  
The story of Pope is taken from "The Patriot Chiefs," and his name is pronounced not like the leader of the Catholic Church's, but with a hard A sound at the end, Pope-A.   


* * *

"So, what did Gwen want?" Jim tried not to make her name sound like a curse as Blair hung up the phone. Blair spun around, his eyes wide and he let out something that sounded suspiciously like wo-hoo, then he grabbed Jim and kissed him. 

Jim stood shocked for a moment, then started to return the kiss. The moment he did, Blair pulled away. "Sandburg?" Great. What had he done now? 

"Yeah, Jim?" Blair looked angry now, but angry at himself or Jim? 

"What the hell was that?" Once upon a time, Blair Sandburg sticking his tongue down Jim's throat had been a daily occurrence, but that had been a long time ago. 

"That was a mistake, that's what it was." And before Jim could say anything else, Blair grabbed his algae shake and headed for the door. 

* * *

Rhoda looked up from her computer and found herself eye to eye with a tall man, who looked Native American. "Can I help you?" 

"I need to speak to Detective Ellison." He gave no name and no reason for his visit. "It's very important." 

"He's at his desk." When indigenous people come looking for Ellison, you point him out. Otherwise, people died. 

"Thank you." He walked into the bull pen and sat down across form his objective. "Detective Ellison?" 

Jim gave the man one look, then growled in Quechua, < What now? > The last thing he needed right now was trouble in Peru. 

"I have no idea what you just said. I'm a Tewa, from New Mexico. I only speak regular Spanish." 

"I'm sorry. I... it's been a long day." 

"Detective, it's 10 a.m." 

"I know." Jim took a long sip of coffee and tried not to think about the migraine behind his right eye. "What can I do for you, Mister...?" 

"No names. My people have been watching you, James Ellison." 

"Why?" At least it wasn't some Army colonel in here making vague accusations. 

"Because you're the first Watchman we've found in more than three hundred years." 

_Fuck_ "Not here." Ten a.m. was too early for lunch so... "Coffee. Muriel's. Fifteen minutes." 

"Thank you, Detective. You won't regret this." 

Jim watched the man leave, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "That's what they all say." 

* * *

The man was already there, drinking coffee, by the time Jim escaped the precinct. "All right. What is it you want?" 

The stranger had a disarming look on his face that Jim couldn't bring himself to buy. "I want to tell you a story." 

"A story." Jim let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Since the dissertation fiasco more than two years ago, a handful of men and women from around the globe had written to Blair, wanting him to know they knew the truth, glad to finally have someone to tell their stories to. "Blair's the one you should be talking to. He's been recording instances of-" 

"Your partner has been offered a promotion, a spot on the Counter-Terror team in Seattle." 

The headache, which had started to show signs of letting up, blossomed anew. "He's only been on the force two years. He's not qualified for something like that." Blair couldn't leave. Jim wouldn't... couldn't let him go. 

"He's a Ph.D., speaks half a dozen languages, and has excellent profiling skills. The man's even been face to face with terrorists before. Why would they let a little thing like seniority stand in the way?" 

"What you do you mean, he's a PhD?" Maybe this guy was a crackpot. Maybe... 

"Your friend won his lawsuit. Rainier awarded him his degree." 

"What lawsuit?" Jim wondered if he'd woken up in an alternate reality this morning. It would have explained a lot, actually. "There was a lawsuit?" 

The man slid a file across the table. "After he joined the Academy, he was advised to get his credibility cleaned up. So, Sandburg sued Rainier for wrongful dismissal. Since, as you and I both know, his dissertation was true, and he could prove it, they had no choice. The decision came down this morning." 

"Oh." How could he have not known about this? How could he have missed a fucking lawsuit? There had been clues, so many clues. It had been Gwen on the phone this morning, Gwen who Blair had been spending huge and increasing amounts of time with over the past few years, Gwen who specialized in contract law. Jim had spent the past two months ringing his hands, convinced Blair was getting ready to propose, to make that clean break they'd never been able to manage, and now this. "Why are you telling me this?" 

"If he accepts this transfer, it won't go well for anyone in this city. A Guide, left to his own devices, more often than not will use his powers for evil. A Guide is born to care for his Sentinel. Without direction, they are unstable, and dangerous. When you found Blair, he'd spent his entire life in and out of therapy, running from woman to woman. He had panic attacks that were so bad, at one point he had to take a year off from school. When he met you all that went away. He became whole when he found his purpose." The man drained his cup of coffee before speaking again. "I've come to tell you the story of Pope." 

"Pope?" Who the hell was Pope? 

"While the British were subjugating our cousins to the east, the Spanish came West, into what is today New Mexico. The Spanish were looking for gold, and when they didn't find it, they enslaved our people. They forbade our religion and tried to erase our history, but it could not be silenced. One man stood against them. He would not allow the Spanish to destroy us. He preached to his people that the old gods were still in the kivas, and they were angry at the Spanish. That man was Pope, the last great medicine man of my people." 

Jim thought of Incacha, then of Blair, and knew where this was going. "Your shaman." 

"What do you know? He is capable of being taught." The man smiled, then continued. "Pope rallied our people and led them against the Spanish. He could not be caught; he could not be silenced. In 1680, he called together his followers and they summoned the old gods from the kivas. The time came to attack, and some of the men passed information to the Spanish but they told the them the wrong day. Somehow, Pope knew who would betray him. You're a detective. How did he know?" 

"His Sentinel told him." Every tribe had a Sentinel, wasn't that how Blair always started his speech? 

"That's right, and so it came to pass that the Spanish soldiers arrived two days too late to save their colonies. Their troops arrived only to find a scorched countryside. Our warriors had burned all the towns and killed all the settlers. We, the Tewa, pushed the Spanish off our land, but we paid a terrible price." 

"I hate stories that have the words `terrible price' in them." 

The man ignored him, and just kept talking. "In the final battle, at Santa Fe, Pope lost his Sentinel. He held him while he died, and after that, he was never the same. He'd won us our freedom, but he couldn't help us keep it. Pope was mad with grief. Without his Sentinel to guide, without some focus for that tremendous energy all Guides have, he acted just as the Spanish had. He made his own people bow before him, taking slaves, using the former governor's carriage. This went badly very quickly for us. The Apache descended and laid siege to our villages. They killed men as they stood in the fields and demanded we pay them tribute. Imagine Attila the Hun sacking a Roman province, and you can imagine what it must have been like for us. Maybe we could have survived the Apache, but then Pope died. His government crumbled, Apache raids increased, and then the gods abandoned us altogether. In 1692, the Spanish returned and re-conquered what is today New Mexico." 

"So your Shaman went a little crazy and inadvertently destroyed your tribe. That doesn't mean Blair is going to try and conquer Seattle when he gets there." 

"Maybe you haven't been paying attention, Detective." The man sighed the sigh of the long-suffering and much-ignored. "Let's be blunt here. You have to learn from the past. Don't let him go. Don't destroy your tribe." 

"I don't dictate Sandburg's life." Jim got up. He had to get out of here, fast, before his brain exploded. 

The man took a picture of Blair from the file he'd brought. "If I were you, I wouldn't let him go, even if the tribe wasn't at stake." 

* * *

He couldn't go back to work with the migraine from hell, so he went home instead. Based on the kind of day he'd been having, why was he surprised Blair was home? 

His Guide was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV. This wouldn't have been so odd, except the TV wasn't on. "Dr. Sandburg, I presume." 

"Who told you?" Blair sounded pissed off. "Because if it was Simon..." He trailed off. "Ignore me. It's been a long day." 

"I said that same thing." He dropped onto the couch beside Blair. "Chief..." 

"Please, Jim, can we not talk about it? I'm sorry, All right? What happened this morning, it was a mistake." 

"The telephone call was from Gwen, telling you the news about the lawsuit. That's why you got so excited." 

"That's right." Blair phrased his words very carefully. "You just got a little too close to my celebrating." 

He could still hear how Blair's heart had sounded as he'd hung up the phone, then let out a whoop of joy. "You never told me she was your lawyer. You let me think that Blair Sandburg, commitment-phobe, had finally found a good woman and settled down. I thought you were leaving me." 

"Where would I go, Jim? I'm not exactly in high demand." Blair's heart sounded rock steady, and Jim couldn't believe it. Blair could lie to him. When had he learned to do that? Stupid question. Obviously right around the time he'd started spending all his time with Gwen, drafting a motion. 

"Seattle." Blair winced and Jim was almost glad. "Yeah, I know about that too. If you wanted to leave, you could have just _said_ something, Sandburg! When were you going to tell me, when you were loading your car?" 

"You're not my keeper, Ellison. Hell, you're barely my roommate anymore." All the careful plans he'd laid, and he can't think of a way to defuse this? 

"What if I said this morning wasn't a mistake?" 

"Then I'd know you were a liar, because you haven't wanted to kiss me in three years. I'm not stupid, Jim." 

He was tired, exhausted, and the pain behind his eyes just won't quit. "A man came to the station today. An Indian, from New Mexico. He told me the story of the last great medicine man of his people, Guide to the last Sentinel born to his tribe." 

"What?" People like that never sought out Jim anymore; they came to him now. 

"We had a nice chat about the Indian rebellion in New Mexico and a man named Pope." Jim had gone online after the man had left, and done a little research. The tale he'd been told had actually greatly understated Pope's madness. "You can't leave, Chief." 

"How the hell did you find out about that anyway?" It was impossible to keep a secret around here, it seemed. 

"This guy, he sounded worried, like if you left everything would go to hell. I believe him. I..." 

"Don't say it, Jim. I can't do this tonight." 

"You're wrong, you know. It's not that I haven't wanted to kiss you in three years. It's just that the last time I tried, when we were standing on that beach in Peru, you hit me and told me never to touch you again. I'm asking you to stay. I'm asking you to stay, and come back to me." 

"I need a partner I can trust." 

"Damn it, Blair. What do you want me to say? I wasn't the one who wanted to stop!" 

"No, you just wanted to fuck the woman who killed me." 

"I-" Jim felt like he'd been shot. 

Blair covered his eyes. He couldn't stand to see Jim with that look on his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." 

"Yes, you did." Jim needed a drink, or a bullet to the brain. Right now, either would do. "When Pope's Sentinel died, he went mad, and their people lost just about everything. If you go..." 

He couldn't hear any more of this. Jim Ellison, baring his soul, was just a little more than Blair could handle right now. "I wasn't really going to go. It's about friendship, remember?" 

"I remember it being about more than friendship, once upon a time." Jim ran a finger along the side of Blair's face. "I still love you. I don't think I can stop." 

"I'm not leaving, Jim. You can stop the seduction stuff." What seemed like a lifetime ago, yes, Blair had punched Jim and said never to touch him again, but that anger had long ago cooled off, and Jim had never tried again. Blair wasn't willing to put himself through the hell of losing Jim again, since as soon as he got over his abandonment issues, this would quickly go to hell. They were too different, they always had been, and those three years they'd had together had been a rollercoaster ride he was sure Jim was relieved to get off of. But try to leave, and those old biological imperatives kicked in.. 

"This isn't a Sentinel thing. This is an `I love you' thing, an `I miss you' thing and a stop torturing me thing! No one else can touch me anymore, did you know that? I am so starved for you that it hurts when someone brushes against me in an elevator, when Simon puts his hand on my shoulder. Do you know what it's like, living here and not being able to be with you? It's hell, Sandburg. We went backwards. This isn't how it's supposed to be." 

It hurt when other people touched him? "You never said anything." 

"Do I ever?" He let his fingers wander in Blair's hair, relishing the feel of it. 

"No." Blair closed his eyes and let himself relax into Jim's touch for a minute. "I'm not going, but it was nice to be asked, you know? Means I'm a real cop." 

"I know, I know." He ran his thumb over Blair's lips then kissed him. "It's been years, Blair. Have some pity." 

"It's a stop torturing you thing, huh?" Blair smiled a little then stood up. "Come on." 

"Where are we going?" 

"Upstairs." Blair pulled Jim to his feet. "It's a stop torturing me thing too." 

* * *

Just outside the door of 852 Prospect, the Native American who'd had spent his morning with Jim finished his cigarette and tossed it into the gutter. "Well?" 

"Mission accomplished." Another man stepped out of the shadows. "The Shaman isn't going anywhere. Especially not tonight. Your detective friend just handcuffed him to the bed." 

"Tell me you're kidding, Chris." 

"You know I don't lie to you." Chris started walking, and his companion followed. "You, however, lied to that poor man. Last great medicine man of our people, my ass. You may not be Pope, Joe, but you can still see the old gods, and last time I sat down for story time with the Elders, we've had a Sentinel in every generation." 

"The story sounded better that way. I'm the Guide, I can tell the legend any way I want to." Joe glanced back at the window to Jim's bedroom. "Can you see them?" 

"Of course." Chris sounded a little insulted. 

"He was going to leave, no matter what he told Jim. I've been watching him. The papers are all filled out, sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk. He was just waiting for the courts to rule." 

"He didn't sound like he was lying. His heartbeat was rock steady." 

"He doesn't think of it as lying. God help us if anyone ever tries to give him a polygraph. The CIA would snatch him up." He wished, just for a moment, that he could see into the window like Chris could. "If Blair had left, how long do you think Jim would have lasted?" 

"Last time you went on vacation without me, I got shot, so I say not very long." Chris rubbed at his shoulder, where the bullet had passed through. Oh, the Elders had been pissed. Chris hadn't been allowed off the reservation alone since. "The stupidity of the white man never ceases to amaze me." 

"Pot, meet kettle. The white men aren't the only stupid ones. You were the one who told me to take a few days off. And what do you do? You get shot in a 7-11." Joe was cold, it was getting late, and he was sick of Washington. "I'm ready to get out of here if you are. I'm freezing." 

Chris took one last look through the window and watched Jim as he remapped Blair's body. He wet his lips then smiled at his Guide. "Come on, Tonto. We've got a plane to catch." 

* * *

End Tribal Lore by Nemesis: nemesis_07@juno.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
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